


Clay/2ndpov Trans FTM Reader - Noncon & Choking & Fingering & Abuse & Creampie

by kiddcorp



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: Abuse, Choking, Creampie, F/M, Fingering, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 02:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiddcorp/pseuds/kiddcorp





	Clay/2ndpov Trans FTM Reader - Noncon & Choking & Fingering & Abuse & Creampie

Your head throbbed, a dull ache brought on from dehydration and sunburn, the discomfort a present annoyance among all the others. Sore and tired, you dragged down the hall, sighing as you fanned yourself with your shirt. Your knees and elbows were raw from being slammed into training dummies, knuckles and wrists inflamed from punching the Temple’s exterior walls. Today’s training had been the first since your arrival to the Xiaolin Monastery and it had taken everything to get through it. The muggy humidity of rural China and the full sun in a cloudless sky had only made it worse.

Alone you returned to the sleeping quarters shared with the other four students, wiping sweat from your arms and neck with a towel. The others had gone to eat and drink and rest under the solitary fan on the patio just outside the kitchen. Changing into clean robes piqued your interest more once you realized branching off would give you the rare luxury of space all to yourself. The moment you were in your sleeping area you kicked off your muddied training shoes and removed your clothing.

A low whistle brought your attention behind you.

“How ya doin’, darlin’?” Clay leaned against the archway, strong arms crossed over his wide, barreled chest. He stared unabashedly at the scars curved under each of your pecs. A gentle sneer made it clear his staring was not out of curiosity.

“What do you want?” you asked, tolerance already low.

Despite every stereotype for Southern charm and courtesy, Clay had only been smug towards you since first meeting. Somehow, for some reason, your existence was amusing to him. He was always watching, always smiling or smirking. Comments were few and far between but Clay’s attention never left you. The other students at the Temple were friendly – Kimiko overly so with her brash flirting and Omi with his lack of boundaries – and Master Fung had been nothing less than gentle and kind. Clay was, for whatever imagined offense you had done him, the only one that raised an air of caution.

Eyeing you, Clay moved forward over the invisible threshold into your private space. You held your ground, posturing up. Inches apart his sweat and musk filled your nose. Pulling back your head, you glared at him. A late summer tan had browned his skin and his light blue eyes seemed all the brighter for it. Sun freckles dotted his cheeks, a boyish detail that made his adult face that much more handsome. The usual sneer turned up one corner of his mouth. A dimple you had never noticed popped into his cheek.

“I been wonderin’ what exactly ya got between those lovely legs of yours.” His Texan accent was heavy as he studied your face.

You steeled yourself, not flinching at the implications of his words. “Get the fuck away from me. Now.”

“Aw, now don’t go gettin’ offended, darlin’.” His sneer widened into a mean smile that stuck as he spoke. “I just never been too good with words is all.”

“I will not repeat myself,” you snarled. Your clean robes were in the small trunk with your other belongings, behind you on the floor. It would be stupid to turn your back to him to retrieve them, so your made to put on the old robes, cold now with your stale sweat. Clay caught your arm, reflexes so fast you had no chance to withdraw.

“Don’t,” he said. “I like the show.”

Your forehead slammed into his nose.

The Dragon of Earth was as solid as was entirely unexpected. Sure he was built like a mountain but not even the cartilage of his nose gave way to the full force of your skull. He did not falter, did not move. And if his grip had not tightened like a vice and kept you upright you would have fallen from vertigo, brain swimming with the almost concussion. For a moment your vision blacked and then remained unfocused when the colors returned. You wondered if the skin on your forehead had split open as it felt like something was leaking down the bridge of your nose. No matter how blurry Clay’s face was his frown was prominent and the flash of anger in his eyes was clear.

Clay’s head smashed into yours. Groaning, you stumbled back with the force of the blow, blood spouting from your nose and busted lip, dripping down onto your chest. When your calves hit the trunk behind you you collapsed on top of it. Pain shot through the front of your face in radiating waves. Your teeth hurt down to the roots. He must have hit a facial nerve square on. At the back of your tongue you tasted blood as you snorted and swallowed what you were sure were tiny bits of cartilage. You thought too late that you should have spit it at him. Dark red blood fell in fat droplets onto the rolled futon mattress at your feet. You cupped your hands around your face to catch as much as you could. The towel you had been using had been dropped by Clay’s feet, where the other monk’s tunic now lay.

Looking up at Clay with bleary eyes, you stared at the thickly muscled youth before you. He appeared broad in anything he wore, you were sure, but his definition was purely of power and strength. Weight sat only in his belly and the rest of him was dense bulk. A few scars, a burn mark or two, decorated his chest and shoulders. He had a freckle near his belly button and a light trail of pubic hair that led below. Knowing you would watch, Clay smoothed his hand across his belly and down over his cock, grabbing the considerable girth that hung semi-erect in his pants to emphasize the shape.

He grabbed you up onto your feet with little effort, his muscles barely exerting force. Clay knocked your bloodied hands away from your face, a pool of red dropped to the floor between your feet, splashing cooly onto your skin. A large hand closed itself around your neck, fingers flexing as he found his hold, your windpipe resting just in the curve between thumb and palm. You were spent from training, and also apparently weak, so your punches, like your headbutt, did nothing at all. Red handprints and finger marks stained Clay’s chest and streaked his face where you tried to push him away.

“You’re handsome, darlin’, ya know that?” Clay said, pushing you by your throat so that your shoulders rested back against the wall and your hips jutted out towards him with the odd angle. The hand on your neck stayed, a constant warning that he could very well kill you if you disobeyed or displeased.

“Back to what I was wonderin’ before,” he said.

With his thumb he traced your own happy trail from your belly button down to hook under your cloth belt. You stayed still, watched and tried to will your muscles to re-energise so you could fight. And lose without a doubt, but fight you would nonetheless. But the lactic acid buildup in your muscles made them weak and your reserves were shot. You had given everything in training to keep up with the others and you were paying for it now. Untying the knot at your hip, Clay unthreaded the belt and pulled your pants to reveal what he so very much wanted to see. Another low whistle of appreciation made your stomach turn.

He smiled, “Oh, darlin’, you’re exactly what I was hopin’ for.” Your pussy succumbed to his rough tough. Thick fingers parted your labia, massaging your folds before delving knuckle deep into your hole. Two fingers stretched you where no one had touched you in years. There was no pain in his exploration, but when he quickly found your G-spot there was a sharp wave of pleasure as he stroked it hard. You bared bloody teeth at him in silent protest, earning yourself a hearty laugh in return.

The hand at your throat kept you quiet. There was barely enough air coming in to keep you conscious let alone screaming for help or spitting insults. Your arms hung deadweight from your shoulders and your knees were weakening, thighs shaking as Clay continued his deliberate touches. He rubbed the internal bundle of nerves unrelentingly, drawing your hips towards him to strangled you in his hold further and to better the angle at which he could stroke your clit with his thumb. When your mouth opened again it was for an unissued moan and the shame that rose up right behind it. Arousal stoked in your belly, intense and fresh, and was fanned by the continued stimulation of both your G-spot and your clit.

Your pussy fluttered around his fingers, clenching around them again and again as your pleasure built against your will. Guilt knotted your stomach. Willing yourself with the very last of your ability you reached out and struck him across his face, palm colliding solidly with his cheek. Your arm dropped back down lifelessly. His hand came out of nowhere, wide and calloused and connecting perfectly with almost the entire side of your face. It was enough force to burst blood vessels and snap your head to the side with a sick crack. And even as you were sure his handprint would bruise into your skin you knew he was holding back, that his strike had been nothing compared to how hard he could have hit you.

A warm wetness marked your cheek where his fingers had struck. You realized that it was your own slick shining across your reddened, welted cheekbone. Through the ringing in your ears you could just hear his deep, mocking laughter. Tears welled up in your eyes as three fingers now stretched you open and his thumb pressed hard into your clit. He circled the nub slowly, extending each moment of contact, but his touch was firm so that you set aflame for the charity of his touch.

“Go on, darlin’,” he hushed. “Let go.”

Squeezing your eyes closed against his suggestion, you focused on anything that would come to mind. Your lungs burned, sitting empty for minutes now without a single gasp of air. Your heart beat wildly, each contraction heavy with oxygen deprivation, a hollow drumming in your chest. And your pussy gushed around his fingers, lubricating his digits as he continued his assault.

“Come on now. Let go.” His voice sounded so gentle. “Let go for me, darlin’. Don’t ya wanna feel good?”

It was not much longer, between his soft encouragements and the deft workings of his fingers, before your orgasm crashed through you. Your moans caught at the hand around your throat as whiteness burst behind your tightly closed eyes. Your climax was a silent one, hips twisting as Clay put the heel of his hand against your clit to give you something to buck into. You rut yourself into a prolonged orgasm that left you shivering with aftershocks of ecstasy and shame. On his fingertips, at his command, you had cum for him.

Showing off his fingers webbed between with your clear ejaculate, he smirked, “Good job, darlin’.” The reward for your cooperation was breathing. His grip loosened just enough for you to inhale a few ragged lungfuls of cool air. When the red stain of suffocation started to fade from your face Clay tightened his grip once again. He liked your overly pink cheeks and the way the skin around your lovely eyes darkened as he choked you.

One handed, he untied the knot of his cloth belt on his hip and from his loosened cotton pants his cock fell out heavy and veined. He had looked considerable before when he had grabbed his cock not a few inches from your face, but at his full erection your heart dropped into your stomach. You resisted again, beating at his chest and pushing him away with all of the few inches you had available. But your limbs gave out too quickly and put up little fight anyway. He would have heard you whimper if his fingers had not been so tight around your neck. He would have heard you beg him not to do this. He would have heard you cry.

Effortlessly Clay pushed you further up the wall so you were forced to step back up onto the lid of the trunk, squatting there, to avoid being absolutely strangled in his hold. With your pussy entirely on display, glistening and wet from your powerful orgasm, labia swollen from the rough contact, hot tears of shame stung your eyes. You would have kicked him, speared the heel of your foot into his solar plexus, done something, anything, if your body did not feel like it was made of lead. It was too much effort to even glare at him. What oxygen you had left could not be wasted on anything but surviving through the next few minutes.

Palming his balls, he rolled them between his fingers, biting his lip as his cock throbbed, bobbing in the air, leaking a thick trail of white precum down the underside of his shaft. He bounced a little, excited, so that his cock swayed heavy. Stepping between your knees, Clay let his length drag across your dripping pussy and up over your oversensitive clit. His calloused hand rubbed over the scars on your chest, flicking and pinching your nipples, appreciating the curves of your ribs and your waist into your hips. When he grew bored of just sliding through your wet folds, or otherwise satisfied with how coated in your natural lubrication he was, Clay aligned the blunt head of his cock with your pussy and pushed in with his hips.

“Easy, darlin’. Easy,” he said.

The stretch was painful and slow. He appreciated the fee of your hole opening for him, swallowing him and drawing him in. He loved how your nose crinkled and your eyes squeezed shut against his intrusion, how your jaw set as you clenched your teeth. It was a lovely contrast to the pulsing in your walls as his cock became fully sheathed inside you, head pressed into your cervix. If the first instinctual thrust had not taught him better, Clay would have been content to just exist balls deep within you. But the feeling of moving was just as good.

“Fuck, I wish I had’ve done this sooner,” he said, mostly to himself. His head went back as he smiled, reveling in his own pleasure at your expense. Adjusting his stance he shifted side to side, his cock, halfway withdrawn, moved inside you as well, spearing pain down through your legs. “Stay just like this, darlin’, and I’ll make ya cum again, alright?”

He let go of your neck for choice of holding your hips with a bruising force, pulling them to meet his quickening, brutal pace. You tried to scream but a small, helpless noise was all you heard. Your throat was raw from nearly being crushed. It hurt to make even the most gentle sound. Focusing on your breathing, you watched him enjoying himself, using you entirely. You could not look away. The smile on his face was genuine, broad and happy. His chest and neck and jaw were painted in your blood. His muscles flexed beneath his skin and his slight Adam’s apple bobbed with each noise he made. His cock smashed into your cervix and you yelped again, a squeak that broke your trance.

But he kept his word. And when your second orgasm came suddenly, washing through you dully and followed by so much shame, he came hard a few erratic thrusts later. His being buried so deep within you did not stop you from feeling every pulse of his cock as his seed coated your cervix.

“Thank you, darlin’. That was perfect.”


End file.
